


Feathers of Jade

by bluetoast



Series: Birds of a Feather [36]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Food Poisoning, Hurt/Comfort, Sam is a jerk, Sick Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 18:47:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1560383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetoast/pseuds/bluetoast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean knows Ignacia didn't mean to get him sick. He's not even sure what she cooked made him sick. Of course, he's not going to let her know how rotten he feels either. His mom's cooking is hard for anyone to copy. Especially on a first attempt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feathers of Jade

Dean pulled the blanket closer to his chin, doing his best to not look as bad as he felt. He wasn't sure what exactly he'd eaten that hadn't disagreed with him – or if it was something in the food prep itself. Maybe he just had a random case of stomach flu. He gave Ignacia a weak smile from his spot on the couch to where she was sitting, on a chair in front of him. “I've felt worse, believe me.”

“It's my fault!” She wrung her hands between signing. “I know I did something wrong!”

“Don't worry, a day of rest is all I'll need.” He smiled bravely. “And for a first attempt at cooking chicken Parmesan, it was pretty good.”

“You're just saying that!” Her face was flushed. “It was awful! I burned it, the vegetables were soggy and the sauce – the sauce was a disaster!”

“You probably got your butter proportions reversed.” It wasn't a total guess on his part – the broccoli had been almost swimming in the stuff and the chicken was bone dry. Although that might have been because the meat had been cooked to a point where it was dead for a second time. “And the sauce was fine. It was from a jar, that's why it tasted the way it did.”

“And you still ate it!” She covered her face with her hands and she said something in Romanian. “Why did you eat it?”

“Because you cooked it for me.” Dean felt a tiny blush creep into his face and he tightened his grip on the blanket, willing the churning feeling in his stomach to go away. He closed his eyes, hoping the dry toast and tea he'd just finished would stay where he put them. He took a deep breath and looked at her again. “And it was pretty good.” 

“You're lying!” Ignacia's face was really red now. “It was terrible!”

“I've seen terrible food, Ignacia. What you cooked was not terrible.” He shivered faintly and offered her another smile. “My mom's chicken isn't the easiest thing to cook either. I've fouled it up myself a time or two.”

“I should have at least been able to manage the vegetables.” She slumped down in her chair, hugging herself. “I didn't mean to get you sick.”

“I know that.” He gave her a wan look. “I just think you got the butter mixed up. And you didn't set the apartment on fire. That counts for something.”

She stared at him for a moment and then frowned. “Are you trying to be funny?”

“It's true. Nothing caught fire.” He gave her a slight shrug and grinned. “I've known people to set off smoke alarms with microwave popcorn. You didn't do that, did you?”

She chuckled slightly. “You have a point.” She reached over and smoothed the hair off of his forehead. “You want some more tea?”

“I think I'm good, thanks.” He smiled. “You don't have to stay here and baby-sit me.”

“What, and leave you here alone?” Her hand remained on his forehead. Just the touch of her skin on his made him feel at least eighty percent better. “You don't think _Sam_ is going to do anything for you when he gets back from classes, do you? Him or that girlfriend of his... what's her name again?”

“Angie. Her name is Angie.” Dean shook his head. “I don't think the two of them are going to last much longer. Just until the end of the semester so she can move out.”

“Humph.” Ignacia made a face. “Does it ever bother you when they...” She went pink. “You know...”

“I can't hear them. It only bothers me when I come back from class and catch them going at it outside of their room.” He was both amused and endeared by her modesty about Sam and his girlfriend having sex. “Quite frankly, I think he's more bothered by the fact that _we're_ not having sex than I am of him and Angie going at it like rabbits.”

Ignacia turned a serious shade of pink. “It's none of Sam's business.”

“Damn right it's not.” Dean shivered and closed his eyes again. His stomach turned over one or twice and then settled again. He felt her brush a thumb over his cheekbone and he took a deep breath. “I think I'm going to try and rest.” He felt her place a kiss on his forehead and he smiled. He sensed her getting up from the chair and moving away from the couch. The rest would probably help. At least he'd taken his last exam yesterday, so there wasn't anything to worry about in that regard. 

In two weeks, he and Ignacia would be going to Romania so he could meet her parents. He was more scared of that than he was of this current bout of whatever this was. San Francisco to Atlanta, Atlanta to Frankfort, Frankfort to Bucharest, followed by a ride on a train – he was hoping to at least sleep while they crossed the Atlantic. Okay, maybe it wasn't the traveling but the question he intended to ask Ignacia when they got there. Once he asked her father's permission. Old fashioned? Of course, but his mom told him long ago that asking a girl's father before asking the girl was the right thing to do. Far be it from him to argue with his mother about things like that. Especially when his dad told him the same thing. He sighed and opened his eyes when he felt the faint shaking of the couch, telling him someone had just slammed the front door shut.

“Sheesh, Dean, you look like shit.” Sam was towering over him.

“Shut up.” He glowered at him. “I've been worse.”

“Don't tell me you've got a hangover.” He folded his arms. 

“Stomach flu.” Dean wasn't about to tell his brother that he'd gotten sick off of his girlfriend's cooking. Sam practically needed a cookbook to tell him how to make a bowl of cereal. 

Ignacia appeared next to Sam. “You're back early.”

“Exam wasn't that hard.” He gave Dean a rueful look. “Guess you two weren't up to anything.... again.” He walked out of the room, so he missed the disgusted look Ignacia gave his back. 

Dean glared at Sam as well as Ignacia sat back down. “I'm sorry about that.”

“It's not your fault Sam's an ass.” She shook her head. “What's his problem, anyway?”

“He grew up with John Winchester.” Just saying the man's name made his stomach churn and he winced. “At least, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.”

“I blame lack of structure.” She pursed her lips. “Then again, maybe I had too much of it and you just... you're just driven by a different force.”

“Maybe.” Dean let out a breath and snaked a hand out from under the covers to hold hers. “Sam most likely has an issue called 'not knowing when to shut up.'”

She squeezed his hand. “I've known a few people like that.” She leaned over and kissed his forehead again. “I'm going to let you rest. If Sam says something stupid, I'll give him a good kick in the knee.”

He chuckled weakly and let her tuck him back in against the couch. “You're too sweet, you know that?”

“And you're too charming.” She touched the side of his head again and went back towards the kitchen. Dean closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

**  
Dean's bout of food poisoning kept him down for the weekend. He wasn't completely back on his feet for a week after that, but he did his best to disguise the illness from Ignacia. There was no need to let her know how sick he got. She had felt bad enough as it was. They were leaving for Romania the day after tomorrow and he knew he had to cook some of the food in the fridge before it went bad. Sam would never cook it while they were gone and Angie? Angie might – but Dean wasn't going to risk it. He was in the middle of browning the ground beef when the girl herself showed up, Ignacia right behind her. He looked up from the stove. “Hello.” He held his unoccupied arm out for a hug from Ignacia, which she gave him. 

“Smells good.” She went to set her bag down.

“You're cooking again.” Angie made a face when she said it, and Dean had a feeling she sounded the way she looked – annoyed. “Sam _never_ cooks.”

“I think that's probably a good thing.” Dean turned back to the meat, not catching the exchange between the two young women and only looked up again when Ignacia appeared on his left, leaning against the counter. “How was your day?”

“Not bad.” She shook her head. “I keep watching those girls do moves I used to do and ask myself how I _used_ to be able to do them.” She looked sheepish. “Well, maybe I could, but I like my ankles and wrists un-sprained.”

“I know the feeling.” He leaned over and kissed her nose. “You want to help with dinner?”

“You trust me?” She bit her lip. “After last time...”

“I just need an extra pair of hands.” He turned off the stove and took the pan over to the sink, dumping the meat into a colander, carefully shaking the grease free. “Could you please get the box of lasagna noodles out of the cupboard?” He looked over his shoulder at her.

“Not a problem.” She went over to the cupboard and was back with the box of pasta by the time he'd set the colander of meat on the counter over a paper towel to catch more of the grease. “Is this more of your mom's famous Italian cooking?”

“Somewhat. It's being improvised since I don't have a pasta machine.” He turned on the burner under a pot of water to boil. “Not that we have the counter space to make pasta in here anyway.” 

“Well, everything you cook tastes amazing.” She folded her arms, looking slightly annoyed. “How did you get so good at cooking anyway?”

“The same way we both learned to turn double-back somersaults. Practice.” He grinned. “Though I don't think I could do one of those these days.”

“Well, neither could I.” She looked around for a moment and then back at him. “Should I get pasta sauce out?”

“Sure. Get one of the ones that's in a mason jar, not the store bought kind.” He put the meat back into a saucepan. “You pick the flavor, it doesn't matter.”

Ignacia returned and set a jar on the counter. “Did you make that as well?” 

“Hell no.” Dean laughed as he checked the label. “Gran Ambrose made this. No way am I going to try and duplicate her Four Cheese sauce anytime soon.”

“That hard, huh?” She looked amused.

“Ignacia, I don't even think I could pick out the right tomatoes.” He chuckled and went back to cooking dinner.


End file.
